He wondered if she would get any aid. Chauncy knew that her father the Don was a property owner, and that he had peons and vaqueroes under him. The Donna had told him that her father had undoubtedly come after her with his men.
She might meet them on her way and bring them to his rescue. And again the chances were about equal that she might miss them, and even if she did get them, would they attack the Indian village on account of a man whom they had never seen?
Chauncy had heard his father speak of the Mexicans so often and in such disparaging terms that the young man had come to think them all first-class cowards.
He did not know that, though taken as a class, they are cowards, yet among them are many brave men.
Every nation has its defects, and in some this one is greater than in others. The young man managed to think of a good deal in the short time that intervened between his being thrust into the lodge and daybreak.
The Comanches did not know that in the grove about half a mile from the village, a man mounted on a beautiful snow-white horse, was watching them as they entered the village with their prisoner. The man was not a bad-looking fellow, and was about thirty years old. The horse would have excited the envy of any man, especially a Comanche, who can judge horses so well.
Faultless in the shape and symmetry of its limbs, with a full, broad chest, arched neck, perfect head, large eyes, long mane and tail, the animal presented a splendid sight to the beholder.
There was no saddle on its back, only a broad band of dark-blue cloth, about four inches wide.
The bridle was a strong and beautiful one, silver-mounted and evidently worth a good deal of money.
On the horse, back of the band, was a bundle of what seemed to be clothes. The man carried a rifle in his hand, and in his belt were two revolvers, the accouterments to the former being in their places.